


Where Do I Go?

by eirenical (chibi1723)



Series: Where Do I Go? FicVerse [1]
Category: Hair - MacDermot/Rado/Ragni
Genre: Alternate Universe, Drug Addiction, M/M, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-28
Updated: 2010-01-29
Packaged: 2017-10-21 04:11:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/220764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chibi1723/pseuds/eirenical
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been 15 years since the events of the musical. Some have moved on and changed, some remain caught in the tragedies of the past. And now a storm is coming. They'll need all the help they can get to weather it... and may have more help than they ever dreamed was possible.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **_January 28, 2010:_** O_o;;; OK, so... that fic I was talking about last night? It's done. And edited. And HTML'ed. *sweatrain* I have no shame. Going to post this thing a piece at a time, but don't worry... it's all done. All 12,456 words of it. With sequels already beating down the door. *falls over*
> 
>  **Fandom:** Hair, the new Broadway revival  
>  **Pairing:** Claude/Berger with hints of Jeanie + Claude and mentions of Claude/Sheila and Berger/Sheila  
>  **Rating:** Really PG-13 (and only for language) for the first two parts, heading into 'R' territory for the third.  
>  **Word Count:** Total -- 12,456; ~3500-4500 for each segment.  
>  **Warnings:** Slash. Erm... Duh? Also, this fic is wildly AU. I'm sure you'll figure that out by halfway through the first part.

**_Where Do I Go?_**  
by [Renee-chan](mailto:chibi17@hotmail.com)

It was hard to believe how difficult it had gotten just to live his life. He woke up in the morning. He showered. He got dressed. He made himself breakfast. He went to work. After work, he came home, watched the news, made himself dinner. Sometimes he visited his parents, more often than not, he didn’t. Sometimes he went out with a girl... more often then not, he didn’t. He had no passion in his life and no passion for his life. Something was missing, something huge... he just wished he knew what.

That night he was at his parents' house, along with whatever girl he was currently dating. It should have worried him that he could barely remember her name, but like with so many things, he just couldn't raise the energy to even care about that. A small hand resting on his arm brought him back to the conversation. The hand was accompanied by a voice: sweet, high, pleasant... boring, "Sweetheart, I asked if you would like some more potatoes."

He could feel his father's frown of disapproval radiating from across the table at his distraction. He just wished he could bring himself to care... Dredging up the girl's name from somewhere in his subconscious, he finally answered, "Thank you, Allison, but I'm not very hungry."

A gentle frown was her only answer. She didn't disagree with him much, didn't even get angry when he'd upset her. There was no challenge in her, no spark. She was exactly the kind of girl his father had always wanted for him -- sweet, considerate, pretty and pliant. They'd marry, have 2.5 children, a dog and a house with a white picket fence. It was everything that his parents dreamed of for their son, but the very thought of living that life almost caused him to hyperventilate in panic. He didn't know why he couldn't be satisfied with the thought of a home, a loving wife and children. All he could think was that it had something to do with that part of him that was missing. He didn't know much, but he did know this... whatever it was, he wanted it back. No... he _needed_ it back.

Rising from his seat at the table and earning another round of frowns from everyone there, he said shortly, "I'm going out for a smoke," and fled the dining room with its antique wood furniture and its carefully applied wall decorations as quickly as he was able.

When he got outside, he leaned his head over the porch railing, taking in large gulps of the evening air. It had been like this for as long as he could remember, this feeling that he was trapped in his father's dreams for him. He didn't think it had always been that way. He'd had dreams of his own, once... desires of his own. He'd had his own life, he hadn't just been a pale extension of his father, but it had been so difficult when he'd come back from the war. He'd lost too much of himself in that living nightmare, that hell on Earth. He'd lost his passion, he'd lost his strength, he'd lost much of his will to live. He didn't remember much of it when awake, thank G-d, but he remembered enough in his nightmares that he didn't need to.

That wasn't even the biggest tragedy. No... what the war had taken from him wasn't just his passion and his strength. The war had taken from him something more important than that... his memory. He remembered some of his early life, flashes here and there, but the war and most of everything else, they were gone. They were gone as though they never were and all of his zest for life, all of his desire for something better than this day-to-day drudgery... they'd gone with them.

Bringing himself back upright, he stared up at the first stars of the evening, just beginning to shine as the sun set below the horizon. He looked out over the vastness of the prairie and wondered why he wished the emptiness filled with the enormity of a city's skyscrapers, why he knew in his gut that he had once lain out in a great park with the grass his only bed and those same stars his only blanket, why he could almost feel the ghostly touch of another's head resting on his chest as they stared up into the darkness and dreamed impossible dreams... why those tingling touches of half-formed memory left him feeling more empty than before.

A quiet step on the porch behind him had him whirling about, a vague sense of his earlier panic coming back to roost. The one who'd left the house to come get him caught her breath at the wild look on his face, a hand fluttering over her heart as she saw recognition take the place of that soul-striking fear. She shook her head as she moved that hand to rest on his shoulder, "Your father and I have only ever wanted the best for you. You know that, don't you?"

Releasing the breath he'd been holding, he turned away from his mother, "I do know that. I'm grateful for everything you've done for me, really I am. I just..."

Her hand gently traced over his shoulder and down his back. He could hear the tears threatening in her voice when she next spoke, "You're unhappy here. You've been unhappy ever since we left New York."

That last sentence tugged at his ears and he turned to regard his mother with a frown, "When did we ever live in New York?"

As though realizing she'd said something she shouldn't, his mother turned away. That little piece of information, however... it had opened the door a crack and he wasn't going to let this go without a fight. Taking her shoulders in a gentle grip, he turned his mother to face him, "Mother... when did we live in New York?"

She paled a little at the repeated question and just shook her head. Feeling the small flame that the words "New York" had sparked within him threatening to gutter and go out, he all but shook her in his renewed sense of panic, "Mother! Please... When did we live in New York? You have to tell me..."

Hearing that note of pain in her son's voice finally broke her down. She looked away from him as she spoke, "Your father didn't want you to know. He thought if we moved you away that you would get better, that you'd never remember all that nonsense from before the war... that we'd have a chance to start over, a chance to do better by you. He was only thinking of what was best for you!"

His hands dropped from her shoulders to wrap around himself as he tried to fight off the sudden chill her words had evoked. Here it was -- the answer to his constant questions. He'd always known something was missing. He'd always known that he felt no connection to the life his parents had always told him he'd led, but he'd never suspected this reason behind it. _He'd never lived it._ All these years, trying desperately to remember events that had never happened, places he'd never been, people he'd never met... Body shaking with the force of the first full emotions he'd felt in thirteen years, he felt like he was coming apart at the seams.

As though she'd realized what she'd done -- too late, of course -- his mother stepped closer to him and wrapped her arms around him, "Baby... it's all right. Just forget about it. Come back inside. Allison made a chocolate cake for dessert and I bought some fresh strawberries. Come inside, have dessert. Just... just come back."

It sounded so easy... so seductively easy. Just come inside. Have some cake and strawberries and everything will be all right. Let me kiss it and make it better. No. No, it wasn't that simple, _couldn't_ be that simple... not ever again. The magnitude of the lies that had made up his life to this point overwhelmed him. Before he'd even realized what he was doing, he'd pushed his mother away and run down the steps and across the lawn to the driveway. He gunned the engine to his run-down little compact, and he could only barely hear her voice screaming after him over the roar of the engine as he pulled out of the driveway and sped off down the road... "Claude, come back!!"

  


* * *

His apartment was as dark as the night outside it when he finally returned home. Staring up into his desolately empty windows, he couldn't bring himself to walk up the stairs. Finally, gripping his keys tightly enough in his hand to leave a mark, he walked around the back of the building, down towards the lake. Once he was out of sight of the old complex, he let himself fold down into the soft prairie grass. Laying back, he stared up at the moon. It was bright tonight, nearly full. The soft light washed over him, along with a sense of peace. There was something about this -- about laying out in the grass, staring up at the sky -- that felt so familiar it made his heart ache. Still, though... something was missing. Someone else should be here with him. He shouldn't be alone.

Curling up on his side, arms wrapped tightly around his stomach, he again tried to dredge up something, _anything_ , that might lead him to some answers. There was nothing. No memories rose to the surface, no faces, no names. There was nothing -- just a few childhood memories that could have happened anywhere, and the thirteen years he'd lived in Kansas.

Rolling back to look up at the moon, he breathed out the words, "New York..." hoping against hope that they might further edge open the door that they had opened. Unfortunately, while they'd been the key that helped him unlock the door, they weren't strong enough words to do more than they'd already done. The answers, though... the answers he needed were there, in those words, in that place. Mind firming with sudden resolve, Claude realized what he would have to do to find the answers he sought. He would have to go back.

Two days later, without even a word to his parents or a goodbye to his girlfriend, Claude Bukowski packed a bag and boarded a plane: destination... New York City.

  


* * *

He wasn't sure what he'd expected when he got to New York, but as he stepped off the plane into the terminal of the airport, there was no sudden epiphany, no lightning-strike of memory to greet him. It was disheartening, to say the least. Momentarily he wavered, wondering what he was doing here, so far from everything he knew. He felt a sudden urge to turn around and get back on the plane and go home, but that wasn't home, had _never_ been home. This, here, New York... _this_ was home. If only he could remember...

When the cab driver dropped him off in the heart of the city, with a pitiful look in his eyes for the poor country bumpkin he was sure would get mugged within a block of leaving the cab, Claude began -- again -- to doubt his plans. He'd heard a hundred stories about the evils of cities, this one in particular. He'd heard even more stories about what happened to Midwesterners that came to those cities and were robbed of all their money and half their possessions. Strapping some steel to his spine, he reminded himself that he wasn't really a Midwesterner, that he was a New Yorker, born and raised... that he belonged here, even if he didn't remember.

Hitching his duffel bag higher up on his shoulder, he began to walk. He walked up Broadway, gawked at the lights in Times Square, eyed the many theatres with barely concealed envy. He skirted the edge of Central Park, remembering more stories and unsure about the safety of going into it. In the end, he reinforced the steel at his backbone and went in. He walked aimlessly for what felt like hours, lost in the beauty of the Park in bloom. And then... he saw it. Around a bend in the path and through a break in the trees, was his clearing. He'd seen it a thousand times in dreams. He knew this part of the Park, knew every inch of it, every blade of grass, every tree and flower. He'd spent countless nights out here, staring up at the moon and stars and dreaming of a better tomorrow. A piece of the jigsaw puzzle that was his heart settled softly into place. He was on the right track.

He stayed there for hours, watching the people go by, listening to the wind shiver through the trees. As it brushed against him, he could almost feel the phantom sensation of hair brushing against his shoulders with its passing. It brought with it another piece to the puzzle -- he just wished he knew where this one fit. Eventually, the wind acquired a bite and turned chill. Seeing the sun beginning its slow descent into the horizon, Claude rose from where he'd settled down against a tree all those hours ago. No matter that he had spent night after night sleeping here fifteen years ago, he was sure that it wouldn't be safe to do so now. He needed to find shelter for the night.

Leaving the Park, he again started to walk. There were hotels here, certainly, but he was almost ashamed to realize that he couldn’t afford any of them. He'd withdrawn all of the money from his accounts before coming here, but if he spent it on staying in any of these places, he'd run through it in less than a month. Not for the first time since arriving in New York, despair again came knocking. This city... it was so big and he was so small in it. He didn't know anyone, he only barely recognized anything and he was just beginning to realize how large and impossible a task this would be without anyone to help him. Refusing to give in to his rising panic, Claude began to walk back towards Times Square -- at least there would be more people there and he might find someone to point him towards a less expensive place to stay.

By the time he reached the Square, nighttime had lain its full blanket over the city. Unlike at home -- not home, _never_ home -- you couldn't see the stars very well. The city itself was too bright... and Times Square was the brightest place of all. The lit up billboards which had been so beautiful at first glance were awe-inspiring now, with the night as a backdrop. He couldn't help it -- he had to stop and stare.

That was when the young man approached him. Lithe and seeming almost to float with each step, his hair a wild and unruly mop of blond curls, Claude thought at first that he must be an apparition. He was proved real enough, however, when he came to rest beside him and draped an arm over his shoulders, smile warm and blue eyes open and welcoming, "Hey, man! You look a little lost. First time in the City?"

For just a moment, a memory flashed by him -- someone, face a blur, draping an arm over him in just such a manner and asking him the same question, warm welcome and honest affection in his dark eyes... It was gone again before he could catch hold of it. Seeing the young man gently smiling as he waited for an answer, he started to nod, then shook his head.

The other man laughed in response, "So was that a 'No' or a 'Yes', dude?"

Caught in his own uncertainty, Claude could only blush, "I... I think I've been here before, but I don't really remember much about that time. I've only just arrived."

Tossing a smile over his shoulder to someone behind them, the young man said, "What do you think?"

Another boy stepped out of the shadows of the building and came up on his other side to drape an arm around his shoulders, as well. This one had shoulder length, straight brown hair tied into a ponytail at the nape of his neck. His green eyes were earnest as he spoke, "It seems wrong to be giving advice to someone older than us, but really... you shouldn't walk around here gawping like that. Someone's gonna take advantage." Again there was a flash of memory, this time of that same someone _and himself_ bracketing a pair of gawking tourists and offering their services as tour guides... for the price of a meal, of course. He felt a flush of embarrassment at having the tables so thoroughly turned on him.

The blond on his right frowned at the brunette, "Zack... be nice. He's new and anyone with half a brain could see that he's scared. He needs some help, man."

Zack merely shrugged his shoulders, "Whatever, dude. I say let him learn the hard way." He dropped his arm from Claude's shoulders and shoved his hands into his pockets, "You wanna spend your night babysitting tourists that's your business, but it's not exactly my scene. 'Sides, I got homework to do and my mom'll have conniptions if I'm home after curfew again."

The blond sighed and shook his head, "You know, Zack, one of these days, you're going to need some help and karma is going to look down at you and laugh its ass off, then leave you bleeding in the street."

At that last comment, Zack made a face, "Jeez, Claude. You talk more and more like your mom every day. No wonder you get beat up at school."

As the blond leapt at his friend and started not-so-mock fighting with him, Claude jumped out of the way, mind numb with shock. What were the odds that the first person who tried to help him in this city would share his name? When the fight finally ended with Zack stalking away into the darkness, the blond turned back to find himself being stared at. He halted his movements, then immediately looked down at himself, "What? He didn't rip anything, did he? If he did, I'll kill him."

Claude shook his head, "No... you look fine. It's just..." He paused in his babbling, then started to laugh. As the younger man started to take on the look one does when abruptly realizing that the person they're with is crazy, Claude got himself under control. Holding out his hand, he offered the other a genuine smile, "I never introduced myself. My name is Claude."

For a moment, the younger man's mouth dropped open, then it pulled up into a wide grin, "No shit, for real?" At Claude's nod, he also started to laugh, "Well, isn't that a kick in the pants. My mom must be on to something with all her karmic meditation crap." He took Claude's hand in a firm grip and shook it, "Only Zack and my mom really call me by my given name, though, and he's known me since we were kids. Most of my friends call me Cloud -- as in 'always has his head in the...'"

Claude frowned, "And the implied insult doesn't bother you?"

The younger man offered Claude a sheepish grin and a shrug, "Nah, not really. I mean, it's kinda true. And it's unique. Besides, my friends don't mean anything by it, anyway. We all have silly nicknames like that." At Claude's disbelieving look, he smiled, "Really. I have a friend who's called Rain and another whose nickname is Tulip."

Claude's eyebrows climbed, "Tulip?"

Cloud laughed, "Well, she says likes it better than Petunia, anyway. Personally I think the whole thing came about because we're all secretly sorry we missed out on the hippie era."

Claude just smiled, feeling something within himself relax at this conversation. It was odd, to feel so comfortable lost in the city that was once his home, talking to a boy he'd never met and yet who shared his name... but he did. For the first time in more years than he could count, he didn't feel like he had a lead weight sitting on his chest, cutting off his air. Finally, the younger man slanted a look at him out of the corner of his eyes, "Being serious, though... do you have a place to stay tonight? You still seem kinda lost and I'm a little afraid to let you wander off alone. I don't wanna read in the paper tomorrow that you got mugged and killed. I'd never forgive myself."

Claude opened his mouth to let the boy off the hook when he realized that it was nearly 9 o'clock and he did _not_ actually have a place to stay. Seeming to realize the predicament that the older man was in, Cloud shook his head, "That's what I thought." Narrowing his eyes, he said, "You're not a psychotic killer or rapist or anything are you?"

Eyes wide, Claude shook his head. The younger man stared him down a while longer, then nodded to himself, "Well, I'm not as good at reading people as my mom, but you seem innocuous enough. I'm gonna take you home to meet her and we'll see if she can think of something to do with you."

More relieved than he cared to admit, and hoping he wasn't making a dreadful mistake, Claude just thanked the young man and followed him meekly back to his mother's apartment. Once they'd climbed the stairs to the fourth-floor walk-up, Cloud unlocked the door, then called out, "Hope you don't mind, mom, but I brought home a random tourist from Times Square!"

A female voice called back from the kitchen, "Claude Michael Ryan, what have I told you about that?" A woman with hair just as blond, curly and wild as Cloud's popped around the corner and opened her mouth to deliver what would, no doubt, have been a blistering lecture... and froze, her mouth still dropped open.

Cloud, clearly waiting for the promised lecture, also froze. When none was forthcoming and he got a better look at his mother standing shock-still, halfway through the kitchen doorway, he raised an eyebrow, "Mom? Something wrong?"

The woman finally edged the rest of the way into the living room, eyes wide and mouth still open. She wore a white peasant blouse and long flowing broom skirt that wouldn't have been out of place on the hippies of a decade ago, yet somehow managed to look natural and current on her. One hand rose to her mouth and her eyes started to shine with unshed tears. She choked on a little cry, then violently shook her head. Low under her breath, she muttered, "No, it's impossible. Just impossible. Pull yourself together." When she looked up again, she offered her unexpected guest a bright smile and an outstretched hand, "I apologize for my rude behavior. It's just that my son seems to think we run a bed-and-breakfast here and no matter how many times I try to tell him that it isn't true, he never seems to listen."

Offering her a sheepish grin, Claude took her hand and shook it, "If it's an imposition..."

Shaking her head, she said, "Nonsense! I'm not going to turn someone away when they're on my doorstep and besides, it's far too late to find you somewhere else to stay. We have a pull-out couch and some leftovers from dinner if you're hungry."

"I do appreciate that, ma'am. Thank you," he responded.

Having started to turn back towards the kitchen, she immediately turned back, "Oh goodness. Don't call me 'ma'am' -- you'll make me feel old. My name is Jeanie."

Jeanie... the name reverberated down the corridors of his mind even more strongly than the words 'New York' had done. There was a Jeanie in his past somewhere... he just knew it. Pushing the thought to the back of his mind, he extended his hand again, "Claude Bukowski. It's a pleasure to meet you."

No one could have said which Claude was more shocked when the woman took his hand, blinked twice... and promptly fainted.

  


* * *

Claude carried the woman to the couch while her son ran to the kitchen to wet a towel for her head. By the time he came back, Claude had her settled. He took the towel from the younger man and draped it across her forehead. Sharing a perplexed look, they settled in to wait. Ten minutes later, Jeanie's eyes blinked open. She put a hand to her head, eyes blurry and confused. When they landed on Claude, she bolted upright, mouth again dropping open in shock. Claude made as though to rise from the couch but froze when the woman grabbed his face in both hands. Her voice was more than a touch hysterical when she spoke, "I dreamed this, didn't I? Dreamed you? You can not have said what I think you said!"

When Claude opened his mouth to respond, she ran right over him, "Tell me your name."

There was not yet a son born who could ever deny a command spoken in that tone of voice and Claude was no exception. A little afraid of what her response would be, he repeated himself, "Claude Bukowski."

At that response, her hands tightened against his cheeks before releasing him to cover her mouth as she exploded in hysterical giggles. Raising his eyes to meet those of the woman's son, he silently begged for an explanation. The boy shrugged, unable to give him one. When she'd finally calmed down again, she shook her head, "It still isn't possible. Coincidence... just a coincidence."

Finally catching on to what was going on, Claude took the woman's hands in his own, "Jeanie... I hate to ask a question which may just upset you more... but... do you know me?"

Another choked sob was her initial response, "Do I know you? I don't know... I thought... How could there be two 'Claude Bukowski's in this world? But he'd be about your age and you look and sound just like him..."

Gentling his hold, he asked, "Look and sound just like who, Jeanie?"

Her face lit with a melancholy smile, "A dear friend." Eyes taking on a sad cast, she looked away, "The one after whom I named my son. But... he died. He was drafted almost... my gosh... almost 16 years ago. He went to Viet Nam... and he died."

Claude jerked himself off the couch, shaking with the force of the emotions running through him at the woman's words. Could the answers really be this close? Could Fate really have been this kind after all these years of crushing him under her heel? He heard Jeanie rise from the couch behind him but still shuddered when her hand came to rest on his shoulder. Her voice was soft and gentle, an encyclopedia of questions in the one word she spoke, "Claude?"

His voice was hoarse, choked, when he spoke. The words didn't want to come, but he forced them, "I was drafted, too -- in 1967. I was in Viet Nam for almost two and a half years. I spent one of those years as a prisoner of war." He turned at her quiet gasp of horror, taking her small hands gently in his, "By the time they got me back, I had amnesia. I have a few memories from my childhood, but other than that, my entire life before 1970 is a blank. My mother happened to let slip that we'd once lived in New York, so I came here chasing those lost memories." His grip tightened on her hands, eyes almost feverish in their intensity, "So I'm going to ask you again, Jeanie Ryan... Do you know me?"

Time seemed to freeze around them as that question hung in the air. Jeanie's eyes met his, pinning him in place as she searched for an answer for both their sakes. Finally, after a moment that lasted an eternity, she let out a sound that was halfway between a laugh and a sob, "Claude Hooper Bukowski... yes. I know you. I would know you blindfolded and struck deaf." Placing a hand on either side of his face, she planted a gentle kiss on his lips, "Welcome home."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _  
> **A/N:**   
> _
> 
> *sheepish grin* Oh please, don't complain. I was originally going to stop this part with Jeanie fainting, but I decided I wasn't that cruel. *eg* ^_~
> 
> Anyone note the half-nod to the Marilyn Manson song, "Cake and Sodomy"? ^_~
> 
> And for those of you who play video games... O_o;;; No, I did not actually plan the Cloud/Zack thing. It just sort of happened and, believe it or not, I didn't catch it until my third read-through. -.-;;; By then, I was attached to the names and didn't want to change them, so... they stand. ^_^ Enjoy.
> 
>  _Coming soon:_ Claude regains more of himself with each passing day spent in Jeanie's company and as he does... he realizes that something vital is still missing. Or is it someone?
> 
> Questions, comments, cantaloupe?


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised, Part 2. ^_^ And I got up early to post it... you know... for the one person who's reading it other than me. *sheepish grin*
> 
>  **Fandom:** Hair, the new Broadway revival  
>  **Pairing:** Claude/Berger with hints of Jeanie + Claude and mentions of Claude/Sheila and Berger/Sheila  
>  **Rating:** Really PG-13 (and only for language) for the first two parts, heading into 'R' territory for the third.  
>  **Word Count:** Total -- 12,456; ~3500-4500 for each segment.  
>  **Warnings:** Slash. Erm... Duh? Also, this fic is wildly AU. I'm sure you'll figure that out by halfway through the first part.

**_Where Do I Go? -- Part 2_**  
by [Renee-chan](mailto:chibi17@hotmail.com)

It was almost scary, how easily Claude settled into their lives, how much he felt like he belonged. Every day he would wander the city, relearning its every avenue and street. Every evening he would come home to them: Jeanie and Cloud, who already felt more like family to him than his parents ever had. Every night, once Cloud had settled into bed, Jeanie would curl up with him on the couch and tell him stories -- stories of their lives before the war had stolen his. It was beyond therapeutic, to hear confirmation of what he'd always known in his heart -- he was not the man his father had forced him to be in Kansas. He was never the man who could have loved Allison, settled down with her and the dog and the 2.5 children in the house behind the white picket fence. He was Aquarius... and destined for greatness or madness. And until these last few weeks, he'd been living in madness.

Well, now his eyes were opening. Living in the city, breathing its smells, walking its streets... he would remember things -- flashes only, but _his_. And at night, Jeanie would spin her stories -- the protests, the be-ins, the burning of the draft cards... the people they'd known. She told him about Woof, about Crissy, about Dionne and Hud, and eventually, almost reluctantly, about Sheila. As she spun her tales and he walked their city, sat in their park and let the atmosphere fill him... he began to remember them. He remembered handing out flowers to the tourists with Crissy. He remembered blasting out music in the park with Hud, remembered Woof's obsession with Mick Jagger and his almost childlike innocence about the world. He remembered Dionne's saucy smile and Sheila's passion for every lost cause... including him. He remembered how very much he'd loved her... how he'd once thought he might want to marry her. But after a little time had passed, and the memories started to settle... just as before, he began to feel like something was missing.

At first it was a passing thought, a moment's brief fancy in a summer wonderland of joy and belonging. Then it became an itch he couldn't scratch, an irritation that jangled against his nerves and prevented him from being part of the easy flow of the life he was building. Finally it became an all-encompassing certainty that brought back with it the leaden weight that pressed him down and choked off his breath. Something was still missing. The memories he had regained, they were partial, incomplete... and Jeanie was keeping something from him.

Two months after his precipitous arrival in New York, he finally decided that he couldn't take it any longer. He waited until a night when Cloud would be spending the night at his friend Zack's house. He wanted the child away in case this confrontation got ugly. Then, when Jeanie settled down on the couch, he walked over and, instead of settling down with her, merely crossed his arms over his chest. Eyes and voice full of disappointment, he accused her, "You've been keeping something from me."

Immediately she tried to deny it. He cut her off with a slicing motion of his hand, "Don't lie to me, Jeanie. I'm more grateful than I can say for everything you've done for me, everything you've given back to me in these last two months, but I can't ignore it anymore." Dropping to his knees in front of her and taking her hands in his, he continued, "I came here, in part, to find myself, and thanks to you, I have. But I came here for another reason, too. Something is missing from my life, Jeanie. Something important, something I can't put a name to, but that I miss with my entire being. Some _one_." He slumped, looking away, "At first... At first I thought it might be you... but it wasn't. Then... then I was sure it was Sheila. I loved her, I know I did. But it wasn't her, either. It wasn't Crissy or Dionne, or Woof or Hud, or any of the others that you've told me about in such loving detail."

Full of the restless energy of need, he jerked to his feet, " **There's someone else.** I can feel it. I know it." Whirling back around, he grabbed Jeanie's hands again and pulled her to her feet, "Jeanie, tell me. _Please._ Who have I forgotten?" That last was a desperate cry.

Jeanie looked into his eyes, searching, like she'd done that first night her son had brought him home. She stared into his eyes for what, again, felt like hours and when she finally found what she was looking for, her face crumbled and she collapsed on the floor, sobbing.

Eyes wide and shocked, Claude dropped down with her. Voice a scared whisper, he said, "Jeanie...? I'm right, aren't I? Please... please, whatever it is, I need to know. I'm sorry..."

Jeanie shook her head, voice thick with tears, "It's not you, Claude. It's my own fault for falling in love with you all over again." Biting her lip, she struggled to get herself under control. When she finally did, she continued, "You've been so happy here these last two months... with me and my son. We made such a nice little family... And I thought, for sure, when you didn't react to hearing about Sheila any differently than the others that this was it -- it was finally my turn with you. But I guess... maybe it was never about Sheila to begin with." Raising tear-reddened eyes to meet his, she finally said the words he'd needed to hear, "You're right. There was someone else. He was a part of you and you were a part of him, like yin and yang. He was the darkness to your light, the wildness to your calm."

As she spoke, an image started to form -- the one who'd come to mind when Cloud had first greeted him, the one he'd harassed his own share of tourists with... the one he'd spent those nights in Park with, curled around each other like puppies. He started to shake, this time not with fear but anticipation. It was right there, the answer he needed... he just had to reach out and take it. In a moment of sudden revelation it was there and the word trembled on his lips as he breathed it out, as if in prayer, " _Berger_..."

Jeanie froze in her description, words caught in her throat at the raw emotion in that one whispered word. Failing to catch his eyes as he rose from the floor, Jeanie also stood. For his part, Claude was caught in a veritable maelstrom of memories. Berger... How could he have forgotten Berger? Everything else tied in to him. It was more than just yin and yang. Berger had held the best parts of Claude in his hands -- all of his passion for life, all of his desire to build something better, all of his humor, all of his ability to love... Berger was the key to it all. That was when something Jeanie had said finally caught up to him. Desperation brought him back to her, clutching at her arms like a man drowning as he forced the word past suddenly numb lips, "...Was?"

Breath caught at the full on knowledge and fear in Claude's eyes. She bit at her lip again, finally caved in with an answer, "It would be easier to show you than tell you."

Heart sinking further with each word that she spoke, Claude insisted, "Then we'll go. Now. Please, Jeanie. I have to know."

Head shaking in denial, she whispered, "You won't like it. Claude, you won't like it at all."

Lips firmed with his decision, Claude grabbed Jeanie's keys from the end table and held them out to her, "Let me be the judge of that."

With one last sigh, Jeanie took her key ring from Claude and nodded, "So be it. Bring a coat, we may be out there for a while."

* * *

They walked block after block in the chill autumn wind, searching for only-Jeanie-knew-what. Every dirty alley they passed, she would duck in, ask a few questions and duck back out, then with a shake of her head they would move on to the next. As the streets they explored got darker and more dismal, as the people Jeanie spoke to got dirtier and more desperate-looking, Claude again began to feel despair coming to roost. What could Jeanie possibly hope to find out here?

Finally, they stopped at one alley and Jeanie was hidden by its depths for longer than the others. It was cowardly of him that he didn't go with her... but he couldn't. When she finally emerged, her mouth was compressed into a thin, grim line, "I know where he is." She then set off at such a fast clip that Claude was hard-pressed to keep up with her.

After nearly a mile of that ground-eating pace, Claude was bitterly amused by where they'd ended up -- back at Central Park. Claude hadn't been in the Park at night since before he'd been drafted. It was decidedly more sinister in 1982 than it had been in 1967. There were no colorfully clad flower children draped around each other and over the grass like their namesake blooms. Instead there were homeless people, curled up in layer upon layer of grimy, threadbare clothing, drab and pathetic in their despair. _This_ was where they were going to find Berger? Claude's heart began to hammer in something akin to panic.

After nearly an hour of searching the park, a voice called out from the shadows under one of the park's many bridges, "Jeanie? Starshine, is that you? Haven't seen you in ages! Where you been? Missed you." The words were slurred, with drink or something else, Claude couldn't have guessed. The voice, for all its cheerfulness, was dark with a deeper despair than they'd even seen in the alleys -- this was hopelessness... it was death. It made him want to weep, because even in its changed state, he knew that voice like he knew his own -- better, even.

Jeanie's eyes softened with pity, "It's me, sweetheart. I'm sorry I haven't been by. How are you holding up?"

Again that voice emerged, dark with what Claude now recognized as something... not quite sane, "Good, good, can't complain. It was such a nice clear night, thought I'd spend it out under the stars like we used to."

That entire comment jangled false. It wasn't a clear night, there was a storm on the way -- the air had been heavy and overcast with it all day -- and he was hiding under a bridge where you couldn’t possibly see any stars.

Jeanie just shook her head, "Why don't you come out here, baby? It's been so long since I've seen you."

That voice raised in a bitter chuckle, "You can't have me, Jeanie. I'm taken. Staying right here."

Jeanie's voice caught, "I know, sweetheart, but he wouldn't want you out here with a storm coming. Why don't you let me take you somewhere warm and safe?"

Again that edge of insanity, "No. I'm staying right here, right here in our spot, until he comes back. He is coming back, you know. He promised me so. So, I'm staying right here, so he'll know where to find me. You can't make me leave him again!"

As his voice raised in intensity, it suddenly broke off into a fit of harsh coughing and Claude couldn't take it anymore. It was him. Berger was talking about waiting for _him_ , had been waiting for him for almost 16 years... Choking on a sob, Claude called into the darkness, "Berger, it's me! It's Claude... I've come back for you. Please come out!"

The silence that followed was brittle. He could feel the man under the bridge weighing his every word, every inflection in his voice. Finally that bitter voice came again, "Tricky, tricky, tricky, Jeanie-meanie, but you can't fool me. I may be mad, but I'm not stupid. When Claude comes back to me it will be with a choir of angels at his back, to take me home... home..." With a deranged cackle, the voice burst into song, "...Home on the Range! Where the deer and the antelope play! Where seldom is heard, a discouraging word and the skies are not cloudy all day!"

As if those words were a summons and this some Greek tragedy come to life, there was a crash of thunder, a jagged flash of lightning and the storm that had been threatening all day released its fury. Claude and Jeanie yelped and dove under the one shelter that was available -- Berger's bridge.

For a moment they huddled in the darkness, a primal fear of the power of the lightning keeping them from noticing anything else. After two more flashes, however, Claude finally came back to himself and turned towards the shadows, looking for the source of that beloved voice. The fourth lightning flash revealed a form, huddled in the darkness, gazing fearfully at the pair of interlopers. Claude couldn't see much from this angle, just a general outline, a blurred shape... but Berger could see them.

With the fifth flash of lighting Berger lunged out of the shadows, knocking Claude onto his back and straddling him. Claude's heart lurched into a trip hammer of rapid beating, unsure if, in this state, Berger meant him ill or good. Once he'd gotten there, however, Berger seemed disinclined to do anything else. His eyes locked with Claude's and seemed to get stuck there, gazing down into the face of the man he'd waited for for 15 years.

For his part, Claude was drinking in those features like a man dying of thirst. He was at once overjoyed and dismayed by what he saw. The once shining and thick mane of ebony curls was now dirty and lackluster, tangled and greasy. The skin was pale, yet wind-burned, flushed as though with fever. And his eyes... Those bright, warm green eyes, once seething with intelligence and mischief were now shuttered, glazed, almost unseeing in their insanity. The sob caught in Claude's throat as he mindlessly reached out a hand to touch that beloved, though terribly changed face.

Before he could, Berger knocked his hand away, pinning it and Claude's other hand over his head. The look in his eyes was fierce, angry... desperate. He stared down into Claude's eyes, searching him even more thoroughly than Jeanie had, his face a mask of pure grief. Finally, he flung himself off Claude with a cry, again huddling in his corner in the shadows, "I'm sorry! I'm so sorry... I tried to keep you here -- should have tried harder! Should have tied you down, **sat** on you so you couldn't go! Always so cursed stubborn, so self-sacrificing... Should have gone after you, protected you... died in your place! Died _with_ you... Should have died..." The voice drifted off into mumbles for a minute before resuming, a little stronger, with a desperate plea, "Have... Have you come to kill me? Please... Please kill me. I don't want to be alone anymore..." The voice devolved into keening sobs interspersed with more of those hacking coughs.

Claude sat up, silent tears of his own tracking down his face as he stared into the darkness. Jeanie's hand on his shoulder nearly caused him to scream -- he'd entirely forgotten that she was even there. Her words were quiet, sad, "So, now you know."

Claude nodded, grief almost choking the words in this throat, "How... how long has he been like this?"

"He held it together for almost three years until we got the news that you'd died. Then... he started doing more and more drugs. Anything new that came out, he had to try. Eventually, he overdosed. It... it was bad, Claude. He almost died. When he woke up in the hospital he was inconsolable. Kept screaming at us that we should have left well enough alone, should have let him go to you," Jeanie paused in this, her last story, to pull him down to rest on her shoulder and started rubbing soothing circles around his back, "Sheila was almost mindless with her own grief -- between losing you and the fact that she was slowly losing Berger... she couldn't handle it. Their break-up... it was bad. The worst... and it was the final straw. After that, he disappeared into the city. He'd resurface once every few months to find one of us to bum some money off of or to crash for a few days and for a while we thought he was OK, you know? Just being Berger to the nth degree. But each time, he was a little more fragmented, a little more lost. Now, me and Crissy are the only two he'll let find him, and only every now and then. And he's like this. More dead than alive." Leaning back, she looked down into Claude's eyes, "Now do you see why I kept this from you?"

Finally pulling himself together, Claude nodded, "I think I do, but it doesn't change the fact that I need him."

Releasing him from her arms, Jeanie wrapped them around herself, "You need who he _was_. Can you handle who he _is_?"

Eyes firming with resolved, Claude simply said, "Yes."

Crawling slowly forward into the darkness, Claude stopped in front of where Berger was huddling on the ground, face buried in his arms. He inched forward until he could pull Berger up to rest on his lap. Once there, the distraught man latched his arms tightly around Claude's waist, as though he were a suddenly discovered life raft and Berger was lost at sea. Claude curled over him, sheltering him as best he could with his own body and started carding his fingers through Berger's unkempt nest of hair, brushing cool hands against his fever-flushed cheeks. After a few minutes of those ministrations, Berger started to calm. Into the silence, Claude spoke these words, "I'm not here to kill you George Berger. I'm here to save you, whether you want to be saved or not. I won't lose you a second time, not when I've finally found you again."

Exhausted and overwhelmed by the events of the night, Berger simply nestled closer and said, "All right..." Then, at the end of his endurance at last, he fell asleep.

* * *

When the storm finally spent itself, it took Claude and Jeanie the rest of the night and half the morning to get Berger back to her apartment. He was full on feverish and delusional by the time they did. Cloud met them at the door, a worried frown on his face, "Where the hell have you two been? I've been calling everyone we know since I got home! Leave a note next time, will ya?"

Jeanie pushed past him without a word, dragging her half of Berger's semi-conscious body through the door. At the sight the three of them presented, Cloud's mouth dropped open and he hurried to take his mother's half of Berger's weight from her. The minute he did, Jeanie turned around, closed and locked the door, then ran to the bathroom and started the water running in the bathtub, "Bring him in here!"

It took all three of them to get him stripped down and into the tub. Mostly he was lost in his own mind, but he would occasionally have a lucid moment and panic at the crowd of people around him and the fact that he was immersed in water. Claude stayed where Berger could see him, gripping his hand tightly and speaking whatever soothing nonsense he could think of. More often than not, to his and Jeanie's surprise, it worked and Berger would calm. It took nearly an hour to get him clean -- the most time of which was devoted to his hair. Cloud suggested they just shave it off and Claude rounded on him with such an angry glare that Jeanie had to calm _him_. She sent Cloud out to go pull out the couch and make it up.

When Berger was finally groomed to their satisfaction, they got him back out of the tub, dried him off and dressed him in a spare pair of Claude's pajamas. Berger had always been shorter than Claude, but it was never more noticeable than in this moment. He'd always been so much larger than life... you never noticed that he was actually a little short. Now, with all that vitality and force of personality gone, he looked as small as he was -- even smaller, the way he huddled in on himself. Claude lifted him in his arms and moved to carry him to the pull-out couch. A small hand on his arm stopped him. Jeanie shook her head, "You two can take my bed -- it's more comfortable and he'll need the quiet." When Claude started to protest, she offered him a sad smile, "It's the least I can do."

With a grateful look, he turned to walk down the hall to Jeanie's bedroom. He laid Berger down in the bed and moved to leave. A small whimper and a hand clutching the hem of his shirt prevented it. Completely undone by the look on his one-time lover's face, Claude kicked off his shoes and climbed under the covers with him. Berger immediately wrapped around him like an octopus, giving no indication that he ever planned on letting go. That was just fine with Claude, because now that he had Berger back... _he_ didn't plan on letting go, either.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N:**
> 
> Yes... yes, I'm mean. What's your point? I loves me my angst bunnies, yes I do. ^_^ Though I'll readily confess... the scene under the bridge still makes me cry when I read it. -.-;;;
> 
> Berger: O_O
> 
> Claude: ;_;
> 
> R-chan: *twitch* Suck it up.
> 
> Nuriko: Ano... Renee-san... I think you might actually be being meaner to them than you are to me... @_@;;;
> 
> R-chan: *rae* You want I should change that?
> 
> Nuriko: O_O **No.** *eyes Claude and Berger* Eh-heh... Sorry guys. You're on your own.
> 
>  _Coming soon:_ Claude may have Berger back... but does he really? It's a long, bumpy road to recovery...
> 
> Questions, comments, pineapples?


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And I now bring you the thrilling conclusion to the Hair fanfic that ate my life this week! OK... well, maybe "thrilling" is a bit overboard, but at least _I_ really enjoyed it. ^_^ I hope you do, too!

**_Where Do I Go?_**  
by [Renee-chan](mailto:chibi17@hotmail.com)

It was a week... a very long week... before Berger was through the worst of his withdrawal symptoms. Jeanie warned Claude over and over that she didn't know how much of Berger's madness was the drugs and how much was true insanity, but he refused to listen. They would take this one step at a time. The first was to get Berger off the drugs. The next was to get him physically healthy and stronger. Hopefully by then they'd know what they were dealing with.

Once he was off the drugs, Berger was calmer, but still not entirely lucid. He drifted in and out of consciousness, struggled to understand his surroundings. He couldn’t take care of himself, seemed to have lost what little will to live that he had left. Claude, on the other hand, with his memories fully intact and Berger now back in his life, had rediscovered enough will and passion to keep an army alive.

Gently but persistently, he nursed Berger through his illness and weakness. He patiently spoon-fed him small amounts of soup -- about all he could keep down -- as often as he would take some. He helped him to the bathroom when he couldn't stand on his own. He bathed him -- and often with him -- every day, taking extra care with Berger's long, curly hair, working hard to get it back to the point where it matched up with the images in his dearly won memory. And finally, nearly a month after bringing Berger home from Central Park, Claude nearly cried with the full force of his relief when those warm, green eyes settled on him and filled with recognition. His broken voice full of wonder and uncertainty, he spoke his first truly lucid word since they'd found him... and it was his name, "Claude...?"

Claude dropped to his knees beside the bed and took Berger's outstretched hand in one of his. With his other hand, he caressed that wrinkled brow, smiling down into confused green eyes, "It's me, Berger."

The hand in his grip tightened on his until it was almost painful. Voice hoarse with disuse, Berger insisted, "You... died."

Claude shook his head, "No, I didn't. I just... I lost myself for a little while." He brought the hand clasped in his up to his lips and planted a gentle kiss on the knuckles.

The hand that threaded through the short waves of his hair was like a benediction as Berger spoke again, voice still confused, "I was so sure... They said you were dead. I didn't believe them at first. So, I waited for you... but you never came."

Now it was Claude's turn to clutch at Berger's hand as though it were a lifeline as guilt swamped him, "I know you did. I'm sorry I was late."

Berger slowly and shakily pushed himself upwards. Claude looked up into his eyes, that guilt swimming in his gaze. Berger raised his free hand to caress Claude's cheek, then pulled his head down to rest in his lap. Once Claude settled, he wrapped his arms around Berger's waist, unconsciously mirroring the posture they'd been in under the bridge one month ago. Berger continued to thread his hands through Claude's hair and down the back of his neck and shoulders. Claude could feel the short huff of laughter that Berger uttered as his stomach moved near his ear, "You know, I'm still not convinced that you're not some drug-induced hallucination... but I don't think I care. I'll take you anyway."

Insistent hands pulled Claude up by the shoulders to sit on the bed. He went willingly into Berger's arms, trying to get as close to the other man as he could. Berger pressed a gentle kiss to his temple, then another to his cheekbone, then the soft spot where the pulse beat in his throat. Claude's breath caught in a strangled gasp at the instant clench of desire that coiled in his belly. Berger took immediate advantage and clenched their lips together in an open-mouthed, almost violent kiss. Claude gave back as good as he was getting, exploring the welcome heat of Berger's mouth with his tongue one moment, then sucking the other man's tongue back into his own mouth the next. They traded control of the kiss back and forth like a pair of dancers long used to partnering each other. It would have frightened Claude, how natural this felt, if he weren't so lost in the pure joy of having Berger with him... really with him... for the first time in almost 16 years.

Every time it seemed they would have to break for air, one of them would find just enough to keep going and would plunge back in. Neither was willing to let go long enough to reposition themselves, to raise an objection, to even _think_ about whether what they were doing was a good idea. So maybe, in the long run, it was a good thing that Jeanie walked in at that moment with dinner for them both. At the sight of the two of them making out on the bed, she let out a small gasp. The two men broke apart, eyes wild with no small amount of shock at the interruption. Berger tried to put a brave face on it -- though he was far from as recovered as he was trying to play up -- and exploded with, "Jeanie! What are you doing here?"

Jeanie, to her credit, merely raised an eyebrow and said wryly, "Well, if you're recovered enough to be having sex on my bed, maybe we should move you out to the pull-out couch so I can have it back before you soil it."

Berger blinked, once again confused, "Your bed?"

Claude ran a hand through Berger's hair to get his attention. Once the other man turned towards him, he explained, "This is Jeanie's apartment. She lives here with her son. She's been letting us stay here and with you so sick, she was gracious enough to let us use her room and her bed."

Berger's eyes narrowed, "Her son...?"

Jeanie sat down at the foot of the bed, legs pulled up underneath her, "You've met my son, Berger. He was born a few months after Claude was drafted... remember?"

At those words, Berger's eyes started to glaze over again. Reaching blindly to his right, he grabbed for Claude's hands, "Claude...? Claude was drafted... I couldn't find him! I looked -- I swear I did! -- but he was gone... He was gone!"

With a muttered curse, Claude grabbed Berger's face in both hands and wrenched him around to meet his eyes, "Berger! I'm right here, remember?"

Berger let out a pained groan, pulled his knees to his chest and buried his face in them, "No... You're a hallucination... just a drug-induced dream! A bad trip... You're not real..."

Claude sighed and pulled Berger back up against him, slowly stroking his hands down the other man's back. Jeanie's eyes were huge and horrified and she looked ready to cry. Claude shook his head before she could speak, "It's OK, Jeanie. It's not your fault." As Berger started to keen from where he was pressed into Claude's side, Claude just held him tighter, "Actually... in light of this, I think it's probably a good thing that you interrupted us when you did." Turning sad eyes on the sobbing man in his arms, Claude finished off with, "We need to get him better -- _really_ better -- before we think about anything else."

Jeanie nodded, "I'll leave you guys alone, then." Putting the tray down on the bedside table, Jeanie moved to leave. At the door, though, she turned back, "Claude... I don't know if you're ready for this or not, but Crissy called today. She noticed that no one's seen or heard from Berger in a month and she's worried. What do you want me to tell her?"

Taking a deep breath, Claude opened his mouth and did the third scariest thing he'd ever done, "If you could buy us a little more time, that would be appreciated, but then... Invite her over. I think she should hear this in person." Then before he could regret the decision, he turned his attention back to Berger, doing his level best to soothe the other man.

* * *

Jeanie was as good as her word. She managed to put Crissy off for another three weeks. Of course, by the time she showed up, he still hadn't figured out what he was going to say to her. Berger was better than he had been, but he still wasn't entirely lucid, wasn't entirely convinced that he wasn't hallucinating this whole thing. And so, Claude heard the knock at the apartment door with a sense of impending doom. He heard Jeanie open it and greet Crissy. Claude sat in Jeanie's bedroom, watching Berger sleep and slowly starting to panic. Eventually, Cloud knocked on the door and poked his head in, "Claude? Aunt Crissy's here. Mom asked me to come get you."

Claude nodded, "Thank you, Cloud." Nodding towards Berger, he asked, "Do you mind sitting with him while I'm out there?"

With an eye roll, the boy nodded, "Yeah, yeah, sure thing. Now get out there before you get me in trouble."

With no other excuses to push off the inevitable, Claude walked out into the living room to face the music. The first thought he had when he got there was that Crissy hadn't changed much. Like Jeanie, her hair was the same and her style of dress wasn't much different, either. No... the only difference was in her eyes. Like the rest of them, hers were no longer so innocent... and when they saw him, they blazed with anger. Her shriek warned him just in time to duck before her thrown purse hit the wall where his head had been. Eyes wide in shock, Claude stayed crouched on the floor while Jeanie grabbed her friend to prevent her from throwing anything else.

The damage was already done, though. Cloud's head poked out of the bedroom, eyes just as panicked as the voice coming from that same room that yelled out, "Claude?? Where are you?"

"Shit!" With a sour look for Jeanie and Crissy, Claude fled back into the bedroom to calm an abruptly awakened and terrified Berger. It took almost a half hour to get him calmed enough to fall back asleep. By then, Crissy and Jeanie were hovering in the doorway, the former with a mortified and apologetic look on her face. Claude rose from where he had been curled around Berger and motioned them back into the living room. He only followed them after making sure that Cloud was back inside to watch Berger and leaving the door open a crack to listen for any further signs of distress.

When he reached the living room, Crissy raised a sardonic eyebrow, "Funny... you look awfully lively for a corpse."

Claude winced, "I was never dead, Crissy."

The girl snorted, "Obviously, Claude Hooper Bukowski, the reports of your demise were greatly exaggerated. So where the hell have you been all these years?"

Hands clenched at his sides and jaw clenched in his face, Claude gritted out, "In Kansas, suffering from amnesia."

Rising to her feet again, Crissy hissed out an angry, "Which you got over just in time to come back here and fuck him up even worse than he already is??"

Claude reeled back from the force of the anger in the one-time gentle woman's voice. Jeanie stepped between them and put the mom-snap into her voice, "That's enough! Both of you! This isn't helping anything. We're all here to help Berger and we can't do that if we're busy ripping each other apart!"

Stung by the fact that they'd both needed the reminder, Crissy and Claude both looked sheepishly at each other. Crissy held out her hand first, "Truce?"

Eager to move past the open hostilities, Claude shook her hand, "Please."

Crissy sighed as she resettled herself on the couch, "Jeanie... I think I'll take that drink, now." As the blond moved to the liquor cabinet, she turned back to Claude, "And from you... I think I'll take that explanation."

Claude took a deep breath and, in as few words as he could manage, described his time in Viet Nam, his parents abduction of him upon his return, his amnesia and the hell his life had quickly devolved into before he'd gotten the hint that had brought him back to New York. At this point, Jeanie took up the tale, not shirking from her responsibility for this small part of the tragedy that had brought them to this point.

When they were done, silence reigned for a minute before Crissy spoke, "Well... if that's all true, then I guess I owe you an apology. I've been worried and I guess I overreacted." Her eyes raised from her glass of brandy and for the first time since she'd entered the apartment, Claude saw a glimpse of the sweet, innocent girl she'd once been in her eyes, "And I guess I forgot to tell you how good it is to find out that you're alive." Her lips stretched into a bright smile and she put down her glass to launch herself into his arms, "It's _really_ good, Claude. I'm glad you're back."

Holding the small woman tightly to him, Claude let out a soft laugh, "You have a strange way of showing it!"

Crissy leaned back from where she was perched in his lap, "Well, you can't really blame me." She glanced over at Jeanie, as though asking permission. Jeanie shrugged. Turning back to Claude, Crissy explained, "With each passing year, he pulled away from more and more of us, Claude. Me and Jeanie are the only two of us that he still lets find him from time to time... and if he was pulling away from me, then that would leave her on her own with him. Then it would only be a matter of time before we lost him completely. I panicked."

Claude pulled her in for another hug before releasing her so she could go back to the couch, "It's really OK, Crissy. It's good to know that he has people who care about him like that."

Crissy blushed a little and picked up her drink to hide it. After taking a fortifying sip, she raised her eyes to the two of them and asked, "How is he? Really?"

Jeanie shrugged, deferring that question to Claude. Claude sighed, "Some days he's better than others. On his good days, he's almost back to normal. On his bad days..." He shuddered, "He thinks I'm a drug-induced hallucination."

Crissy winced, then put a hand on his knee in silent empathy, "Oh, Claude... that... that's terrible."

Unable to answer past the sudden lump in his throat, Claude merely nodded in agreement. Cloud took that moment to stick his head back out into the living room, "I'm really sorry to break this up, guys, but I think he's waking up again. You might want to get back in here before he does, 'cuz I don't think anyone wants a repeat of what happened earlier."

Taking that excuse for the gift it was, Claude fled the living room for the safety of Jeanie's bedroom. He made it to the bed just as Berger opened his eyes. The other man blinked fuzzily up at him, then reached out a hand with a sleepy frown, "Thought I'd lost you, again..."

Claude grabbed the questing hand and placed a gentle kiss on the palm, "Never again, Berger. I'm not leaving you." Pressing another kiss to the inside of Berger's wrist, he smiled wryly, "You're stuck with me this time, lover."

The other man gave a wicked chuckle as he pulled Claude down onto the bed with him, "I think I can live with that."

Claude pulled the covers up over them both and rested his head on Berger's chest. Berger wrapped his arms around him and pulled him as tight against him as he could, "Claude...?"

Raising his head to meet worried green eyes, Claude asked, "What is it?"

"I... I think I heard Crissy's voice. I thought we were in Jeanie's apartment...?" came the worried query.

Closing his eyes in pain at the fear and confusion in that beloved voice, Claude buried his face in the chest below him, "We _are_ in Jeanie's apartment, Berger. Crissy got worried that she hadn't heard word of you in a few months and she came here for answers."

Another confused frown, "Then who screamed before?"

Claude blushed, "That would have been Crissy. She was... a little mad at me on your behalf."

Suddenly Berger was pushing at him to sit back up, his eyes wild, "Crissy saw you?"

Now it was Claude's turn to be confused, "What? Of course she saw me, Berger. I just told you that I was out in the living room talking to her--" Before he could finish his explanation, Berger was out of the bed and moving as fast as he could towards the living room. Claude cursed and fought to untangle himself from the sheets to follow.

By the time he reached the living room, Berger was on his knees by Crissy and seemed to be going through some odd ritual that involved inspecting various parts of her by sight, smell and taste. Jeanie quickly walked over to a shocked Claude to explain, "He's just trying to make sure she's real, Claude. He... He does this to all of us when he hasn't seen us in a while."

Swallowing past a suddenly dry mouth, Claude nodded his understanding. When the ritual was done, Berger grabbed Crissy's hand and dragged her over to Claude. His voice was rough when he spoke, "Tell me who you see."

Crissy answered, clearly confused, "I see Jeanie..." At those words, Berger's face fell and he looked ready to cry. Claude's heart went out to him. Crissy continued, "...and Claude. Why?"

At her last words, Berger's eyes lit up like a young boy on Christmas morning who's finally gotten the toy he's waited ten years for. And in just as excited a voice as that little boy's, he asked, "You really see him? You aren't just saying that?"

It took Crissy a moment to catch on, to understand what Berger was really asking. She lifted a hand to cup his cheek, "I really see him, Berger, because he's really here. He came here to find you. He's been here with you for almost two months."

At those words, a tension seemed to drain out of the long-haired man -- a tension he'd been carrying for far too long -- and for the first time since that night under the bridge, when Berger's eyes met Claude's, there was understanding and sanity in the weight of his gaze. He walked up to Claude, purpose written in every step.

From the moment that weighted gaze landed on him, Claude started to tremble, panic settling deep in his gut. They'd been building towards this moment ever since that minor breakthrough a month earlier, but he still wasn't ready for it. Before, Berger had just accepted that Claude had been gone and now was back. But now... now he was going to want answers. And what would happen if he didn't like the ones he got? By the time Berger reached him, Claude was shaking so hard he was surprised his teeth weren't chattering.

Frowning, Berger lifted a hand to cup Claude's cheek, "It's... been longer than 'a little while', hasn't it?"

Claude could only nod, voice still trapped somewhere in his tightly closed throat.

With a sad little sigh as he realized he wasn't going to get a coherent answer from Claude in this state, Berger turned to look at Crissy, "How long?"

Crissy hung her head, unhappiness written in every line of her body, "It's been almost sixteen years since the year Claude was drafted, Berger. Thirteen since we got the now obviously false information that he was dead."

Berger's eyes glazed again at hearing those words, but he fought his way through it back to lucidity, "Sixteen years?" Turning back towards Claude, his voice the only thing betraying his hurt, he asked, "Claudio... If you weren’t dead, where were you all that time?"

Claude opened his mouth to talk and couldn't make a single sound emerge. Hearing the strength in that voice... hearing it say that silly, silly nickname that Berger had always loved to call him, it had him completely undone. He dropped to his knees and buried his face in Berger's legs, silently begging forgiveness.

Berger's hands buried themselves in hair barely long enough to tug now, his jaw working furiously. Finally he, too, dropped to his knees and pulled Claude into a tight embrace.

Feeling those strong arms tighten around him, finally taking the weight of responsibility off his shoulders, Claude thought he would faint from the pure relief he felt. He was only barely aware of Jeanie explaining how her son had found him wandering the streets of New York City with only a vague sense that he hadn't belonged where he'd been... and an even vaguer one that he might belong here. She explained why he'd been away so long... explained about his amnesia, his time in Nam. Claude shut his ears to it all, only able to concentrate on the feel of his love's arms around him.

Eventually, Berger got a finger under his chin and forced him to look up, "You missed me even when you didn't remember who I was?"

Claude nodded, finally finding his voice, "For as long as I could remember, something had been missing from my life. There was no meaning in it, no passion. I barely had the will to live, much less function. Even when I got here and I started to remember, there was this huge hole in my life... and it was killing me. Then, I remembered you... and I suddenly knew exactly what was missing -- _who_ was missing..."

Before Claude could explain any further, Berger had claimed his lips in another bruising kiss. There was nothing gentle about it. This kiss was possessive, it was marking... staking a claim. Sure enough, when Berger finally released his mouth, he clamped his teeth down on the join of Claude's neck and shoulder, sucking hard. That... that would leave an impressive hickey. Claude couldn’t help but shiver with the pure joy of knowing what that meant.

Abruptly he was brought back to himself by Crissy commenting that she didn't know whether to interrupt or go get a camera. Then Cloud made them aware that he was behind them by making exaggerated gagging noises. Jeanie immediately tried to shush them both, but her sternness was ruined entirely by the joyous laughter she couldn't quite contain. He wasn't allowed to be distracted for long. Berger grabbed his chin and turned Claude back to face him. With an impish grin, he started licking his way along Claude's jaw line and nibbling down the line of his neck. Claude could only clutch at Berger's shoulders and desperately hope that his shaking legs would keep supporting him.

Crissy muttered something to the effect of, "That's it, I'm getting the camera," before running back into the other room.

Jeanie, still laughing, urged them on, "Why don't you two hurry up and take this into the bedroom before she gets back?" Her delighted laughter followed them down the hallway as they took her advice... including one last command before the door closed behind them, "And change the sheets in the morning! After tonight, you're both on the pull-out couch, 'cuz I want my bed back!"

With an answering laugh and a wicked grin of his own, Berger stuck out his tongue and closed and locked the door. Staring in wonder at the man doing a slowly stalking advance towards him, Claude decided that now that he had it back, he wouldn't want his life any other way... and that at long last, in this man's arms, he'd found where he belonged.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N:**
> 
> And it's done! *cheers* See, I told you there'd be a happy ending! ^_^
> 
> O_O But I already have sequel bunnies breeding in the living room... O_O *falls over*
> 
> Claude and Berger: NOOOO!!!!
> 
> R-chan: *blinks innocently* What did I say?
> 
> Claude/Berger: O_O
> 
> R-chan: *huffs* Well... Sheila's gotta find out about this sometime, doesn't she?
> 
> Claude/Berger: x_x;;;
> 
> Questions, comments, papaya?


End file.
